


Reboot 313

by lilythesilly



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates (ish), Alternate Universe - The Good Place, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Good Place spoilers, M/M, there’s a hint to sex but you don’t actually see it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilythesilly/pseuds/lilythesilly
Summary: “Hi, um, Ronnie right? You don’t know us, but we need your help. I’m David and this is my—that’s Patrick. This is gonna sound crazy, um, but we thought that we were in The Good Place and it actually turns out—”“Yeah, I know.” Ronnie cuts them off impatiently with an eyeroll. “You’ve been here seventy five times.”A ‘The Good Place’ AU of sorts
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 32
Kudos: 58





	Reboot 313

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to do a Good Place AU for a while, and this kind of happened lol. I smashed two of my favorite episodes of The Good Place together (2x03 & 3x07) and dropped the good folks of Schitt's Creek into it. I took _a lot _of artistic liberty here so maybe go forward with a little suspension of disbelief?__
> 
> __Big thanks to[nontoxic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nontoxic/pseuds/nontoxic) and [roguebaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguebaby) who took a look at this when I couldn't figure out the timeline._ _

“Hi, um, Ronnie right? You don’t know us, but we need your help. I’m David and this is my—that’s Patrick. This is gonna sound crazy, um, but we thought that we were in The Good Place and it actually turns out—”

“Yeah, I know.” Ronnie cuts them off impatiently with an eyeroll. “You’ve been here seventy five times.”

David hears Patrick inhale sharply behind him. “ _Seventy five_ —”

Ronnie shoots him a dirty look—yikes, what did Patrick do to piss her off in a past life?—and crosses her arms. “Did I misspeak? Seventy Five. Seven-Five.” Ronnie says and leans against the doorframe with a sigh, “Did you at least remember to bring the whiskey this time?”

David’s confused. “We’ve been here before?” 

“Un-fucking-believable,” Ronnie mutters and David’s ears perk up because apparently they can swear here. 

Twyla pops up behind them and grins. “I’m Twyla!”

Ronnie pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “ _I know._ ” 

* * *

“So, we’re in the Bad Place,” Patrick says, pacing around Ronnie’s living room. “I knew it. I switched to drinking tea in the mornings even though I _knew_ tea bags were bad for the environment and it came back to haunt me. Why didn’t I just go with loose leaf?” 

“Oh my god, Patrick.” David groans from where he’s sitting on the couch. Patrick getting apoplectic about potentially making the wrong decision is not going to help them with this current situation. “Can we focus please?”

Patrick sighs and rubs his hands over his face. “Are we the only ones being tortured? We can’t be the only ones.” 

When David woke up this morning, all he was worried about was how to make it look like he was paying attention during Patrick’s ethics lessons and how to not tip off Gwen to the fact that he was in the Good Place by mistake. 

That seems like a cakewalk compared to what they’re dealing with now.

“Stevie is also _definitely_ being tortured.” David says and continues at Patrick’s confused look, “You know, Stephanie, the mime? My sister’s “supposed” soulmate? Yeah her actual name is Stevie and she’s not a mime who dedicated her life to bringing joy to children and the less fortunate by miming at all—she’s just an asshole. Those boxes of silence? Are really just cubes of deceit. Also at some point I think she secretly married Twyla?” He adds as an afterthought at the end.

“Wait, _what?_ ” Patrick says loudly, coming to sit next to David on the couch, eyes wide. “Stevie and Twyla are _married?_ ” 

“ _That’s_ the part of this that you had a question about?” Patrick shrugs and David twists the rings around his finger nervously. “And I mean, we have to assume Alexis is being tortured as well.” He says and then adds, “I should’ve _immediately_ known it wasn’t The Good Place when my sister showed up.” 

Finding out he was dead was a...surprise to say the least. Finding out that his sister was also dead was a...David doesn’t have a word to describe how he processed that one. Well, he hasn’t is the honest answer. He doesn’t know how his sister died or how long she’s been there—time doesn’t really exist in the Good Place—and he doesn’t care to give it much thought either. It’s all very morbid and he’d like to stay blissfully ignorant for as long as he can.

Patrick laughs sardonically, the only way somone can in a situation like this. “No offense, David,” he starts and David immediately feels offended, “but I can’t believe you and I ended up in the same place.” 

“You think _I’m_ overjoyed at how this all played out?” David asks. “I thought the afterlife was supposed to be like one of Prince’s parties, not full of people who wear braided belts and weird mountaineering shoes.” 

“Are you still talking?” Ronnie groans from the other couch, a cold compress over her eyes.

Right. They’re here for a reason. Because they need help. 

“Is it always the three of us here?” David asks her.

Ronnie shrugs. “Always at least you and Twyla. Most of the time the thumb,” she gestures to Patrick, “is with you too. On occasion Stevie. Your sister came a couple times, and she also showed up alone with Twyla once.” She sighs and throws the compress onto the floor, turning to glare at them. “But no matter which combination of you all shows up, I always ask you to bring me whiskey and you never remember.” 

“Mhm, yep.” David says while he tries to process the fact that this exact same scenario has happened seventy-five times before and he has no memory of it. “I feel like we’re getting off track? The only thing we should be focusing on right now is creating a plan. Starting here, I guess. I mean this place is nice—”

“Why couldn’t we just stay here forever?” He and Ronnie say at the same time.

Ronnie rolls her eyes at David’s incredulous look. “Yeah, you say that every time you come here. And every time, you go back. You formulate a plan to defeat Gwen and you go back.” 

Patrick hops up and claps his hands together, probably excited at the opportunity of potentially using a whiteboard or some index cards or something else that he can make a chart with. “Yes! That’s what we need. A plan. But, what happens if—”

“We come up with a plan that we’ve already come up with before?” He and Ronnie say at the same time. 

“I don’t know why I keep thinking you’ll be original, Brewer. You say the same thing every time.” Ronnie sighs and grabs a poster board from behind her television, holding it out to him. “Fortunately for you I’ve written down every plan you’ve ever come up with. Obviously they didn’t work because you’re sitting here.” 

David gets up and leans over Patrick’s shoulder so he can get a good look at the board. “Kill Gwen. Seduce Gwen—which, _ew,_ no I hope we didn’t do that. Make Gwen think she’s the one that’s in the bad place,” he says, reading off the list.

No wonder their memories keep getting wiped. Each of these plans suck. 

“Does that say ‘trap Gwen on a replica of David Geffen’s yacht with somali pirates’?” Patrick squints at one of the index cards on the board. 

David nods. “That was definitely Alexis’s idea.”

Ronnie shrugs. “It’s not the worst one up there.”

She eventually gets bored of them and kicks them out, so he and Patrick take the idea board out to her front yard and set it on the picnic table out there. 

Ronnie’s lawn is pretty boring, except for a couple lawn gnomes placed in some compromising positions. Her whole house and aesthetic is pretty... _beige_ in general. 

He shouldn’t be judging, really. His and Patrick’s tiny cottage is covered with giant canvases of moths—which now that he thinks about it is probably just another way to torture him (and is definitely scarier than the crippling anxiety and imposter syndrome combined). 

But still, does taste have to be something else that’s sacrificed here in the Medium Place? 

“Ok, I know none of these worked out,” David says and messes with some of the index cards on the board. “But are we sure we don’t want to revisit using Alexis as bait? I know for a fact she’s very good at it.” 

“What’s the point, David?” Patrick asks and starts pulling the rest of the index cards off the board. “We’re trapped in some kind of twisted version of Nietzsche’s eternal recurrence with no end in sight.” 

David groans. “Can you go like two fucking seconds without mentioning philosophy?” He asks and is so annoyed right now that he can’t even enjoy the fact that he’s able to swear for the first time in who knows how long. 

“What else am I supposed to do, David?” Patrick asks in that stupid condescending tone that he sometimes uses when he thinks he needs to explain something to David like he’s a child. “We’re experiencing karma, _right now,_ but we can’t learn from our mistakes because our memories keep getting erased like they’re some dude’s creepy internet browser history. It’s an epistemological nightmare.” 

“I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve this,” David whines and drops his head down onto the table. “I must’ve been Dracula, or a spin instructor, if this is my karma.” 

Patrick exhales a frustrated sigh and glares at him. “You’re so mean sometimes, David.” 

David narrows his eyes. “And you’re condescending,” he says, flapping his arms around in circles to get his point across. “You know in one of these hundreds of reboots I probably killed you and went to the Really Fucking Bad Place, and you know what? It was probably worth it.” He says and stalks away from the table.

“Oh, great, David. Run away! You’re so good at it!” Patrick yells after him.

“Oh my god,” David groans when he storms back into the house. “Patrick is the _worst._ I can’t believe that out of everyone in the afterlife, he’s the one that I’m stuck here with. Why couldn’t it have been Bowie?”

“Mhm, yep, that sucks.” Ronnie says absently and flips through a magazine. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, are my issues boring you?” David asks. “I am _struggling,_ existentially, and it would be great if you could listen to me, thanks so much.” 

“I have, David.” Ronnie rolls her eyes and tosses the magazine on the coffee table. “I’ve listened to you bitch about Patrick seventy-five different times, in seventy-five different ways so I’m just gonna spell it out for you: you both got it bad for each other.” 

_“What?”_ David squawks. 

Ronnie shrugs. “I don’t know why you picked him, but you did.” 

_“Absolutely not_ —that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” 

She raises an eyebrow. “Don’t believe me?” She asks and walks over to the tv, pulling out a VHS copy of ‘The Crows Have Eyes’ and putting it in the player. 

“Ok, I’m really not in the mood to watch a D-Rated Horror film right now. Or ever.” David says and Ronnie holds up a finger and leads it to the tv. 

A grainy picture clears up to show David and Patrick lying in bed together, assumingly in a room upstairs, completely naked (well, there’s a blanket, but David assumes they’re naked underneath).

 _“I know we’re in the middle of running away from an actual demon,”_ Patrick starts, laying his chin on David’s chest so he can look up at him, _“and I don’t want to make the situation more stressful—but I love you.”_

David sucks in a breath, both on and off screen. _“So, you just said that to me for the first time knowing that it would make the situation more stressful?”_ David asks in the video.

Patrick smiles softly. _“Yes, that’s correct,”_ he says, pressing a kiss to the hollow of David’s throat and David has to look away from the video because this is too much—it’s too intimate. _“And I don’t expect you to say it back—”_

 _“I love you too.”_ David cuts him off in the video with a smile, leaning down to kiss him. 

David clears his throat and looks away from the tv once the video ends, feeling both overwhelmed and hollow at the same time. 

“There it is,” Ronnie says, pointing the remote at the screen. “You’ve both got it bad.” 

“I don’t understand,” David says. “Patrick— _philosophy major who wears mid range denim Patrick_ —told me that he loved me. And I said it back.” 

“Yep,” Ronnie says, popping the ‘p’.

David’s breath—well, not breath, he doesn’t breathe anymore he’s dead, but _something_ —stalls in his chest.

“That’s not possible,” David says. “I’ve only said it twice—”

“Once to your childhood nanny Adelina and another at a Mariah Carey concert, yeah, you told me that the last time I showed you the video.” Ronnie shrugs.

“Why were you taping us?” 

“I keep a camera up there because I think your sister steals from me when she’s here.” Ronnie says, and that....that’s fair. She probably is. 

“Why would you show me that, I mean—who even are those people?” David asks and it feels like something heavy is sitting on his chest and the words _‘I love you too’_ keep swimming in his mind like the eye of a hurricane. “I don’t, I can’t—”

“David, calm down,” Ronnie says and places a hand on his wrist. “I’m gonna go get Patrick. Annoying as he is, he seems to settle you in a way that most people can’t.” 

“Don’t get Patrick!” David yells when Ronnie pulls away. “I don’t know Patrick! We basically just met a few weeks ago.” 

“No, David.” Ronnie says and squeezes his wrist. “You’ve known each other for a really long time.” 

David frowns. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Twyla!” Ronnie calls and Twyla pops in between them. “Can you grab the box of VHS’s in your void for me? My name should be on it.” 

The box immediately appears in Twyla’s hands. “Here you go, Ronnie.” 

Ronnie grabs the VHS on top of the pile. “Around your tenth or fifteenth time here I realized that Twyla records all of the versions of Gwen’s experiment and archives them in her void when she gets rebooted, so I started taking stock when you started asking questions.” She says. “Once I realized I could get away with it I started watching them for fun. They’re way more entertaining than the lame ass video tapes I have here—especially the reboots where you and Stevie end up together. But most of the time you end up with Patrick in one way or another.” 

David is spiraling here. As far as he knows, Patrick is a snippy condescending asshole who can’t make a decision to save his life. He can’t reconcile that person with the one who said he loved him. He thought he’d broken the pattern of falling in love with people who weren’t good for him, but apparently not. 

“I—”

“Don’t worry,” Ronnie says and taps the tape that says ‘Greatest Hits’. “You’ll be caught up soon.”

She presses play.

* * *

“Is that your harvest smoothie?” David asks from where he’s sitting on the couch.

Patrick looks up from the textbook that he’s taking notes in and smirks. “Well, technically it's ours, since we’re soulmates. I assume it works like marriage—the whole what’s yours is mine, what’s mine is yours thing.” 

David blanches. “Oh god, were you _married_ when you were alive? Does that make me your afterlife mistress or something?” 

Patrick clears his throat and fixes his eyes back onto the textbook. “No, um. I was engaged once but we never—no. I wasn’t married.” 

David sighs and picks up a magazine. “Well, you’re lucky. I don’t usually share beverages with just anyone, but you look like you have a clean mouth, so.”

Patrick looks at him incredulously. “I’m sorry, a clean mouth?” 

David nods. “Yeah, some people have nice, clean mouths and some people have sloppy mouths.” 

“Huh,” Patrick says thoughtfully and closes the textbook. “Should we get back to Aristotle?” 

David leans back against the couch and sighs, putting down the magazine and grabbing the big ugly philosophy book. “I guess. But, also, why do we have to take this guy at his word like he’s the be-all-end-all of philosophy? Like who died and made Aristotle in charge of ethics?” 

Patrick rolls his eyes and walks over to the chalkboard so he can point to the chart he drew this morning. _“Plato.”_

David nods slowly. “Right, because I-I was definitely paying attention while you were teaching me that this morning.” 

“Ok, David,” Patrick says and claps his hands together patiently, “I’m trying to save you from eternal damnation here, so could you maybe pay a little more attention?” 

David shrugs. “Can I have my smoothie back?”

Patrick smirks and takes another sip. “No, you have a sloppy mouth.”

* * *

“Ok,” David says and pauses the video, “What about that says ‘I love you’?”

Ronnie sighs, “I knew you were gonna say that, which is why this is a warm up to get you used to watching memories of your past—usually you watch at these two or three clips before you complain but today I guess I gotta bring out the big gun early. Twyla, hand me the one that says ‘313’ on it.” 

Twyla hands her a VHS that has a giant **313** looped in blocky writing on the box (looks more like it says B13 if David is being honest), and Ronnie pulls it out. “These are the highlights from reboot 313—”

“Wait, how many times have we been rebooted?” David asks.

“Twyla, how many tapes are there?” 

“415.”

“Oh my god,” David rubs his face and sighs. “What’s so special about reboot 313?” 

“You’ll see.” Ronnie says and hands him the remote. “I’m gonna let you do this part alone.” 

* * *

How Alexis has a palace complete with a garden, tennis court and indoor shopping mall while all he has is a tiny cottage filled with giant moth canvases and jewel toned furniture baffles him (it does kind of bear a resemblance to Kate Winslet’s cottage in The Holiday, but still—it’s a _cottage_ ) and makes him feel competitive with his sister in a way he hasn’t been since they were children. How is this his life? 

Oh right, it’s because this actually isn’t supposed to be his. The real David—the one who was a philanthropist and gave up all of his money to help build schools in third world countries—was somewhere in the Bad Place, no doubt living his personal hell in a butterfly house or something. 

He leans across the bridge overlooking the koi pond (because of course this house has a forking koi pond) and rests his head on the cool stone, hoping it’ll do something to ease his frayed nerves.

Who was he kidding? Thinking he could actually stay in the Good Place. He’s been pretending to be one of them for two days—he even asked Gwen how she was doing this morning with only a mild disdain—and the sky literally rained giant mall pretzels. 

He should confess. That would be the good thing to do. 

But he thinks about the people here and how they say good morning every day and look genuinely happy to see him. He thinks about looking in the mirror and not totally hating what he sees, because here people think he’s a good person.

He thinks about Alexis, who for the first time in a really long time is in the same place as him—where he can see her and talk to her and grab her hand to make sure she’s really there. 

Selfishly, he wants to stay and keep all of that for himself. 

_That’s the root of the problem,_ he guesses.

Someone clears their throat from behind him and he looks over to see Patrick staring at him shyly, fidgeting with the button on his blazer. “Hi.”

Patrick is like the stereotypical Good Person. He’s nice, and polite and considerate and for some reason can make mid range denim _really_ work. He knows how to tease without being an ash-hole and he’s genuinely interested when David talks about his galleries. He knows about philosophy and ethics and willingly teaches it to other people.

Of course when David finds a soulmate they’re not actually meant for him. 

“Hi, um.” David says and looks around the garden awkwardly. “My sister’s still inside at the party.” 

“I didn’t come out here for your sister, David.” Patrick says softly. 

Patrick wears his emotions so openly and expressively that David has no idea how to deal with it. His eyes—David could go on about his eyes and how they resemble his favorite top shelf whiskey—are wide and open and scream ‘talk to me’.

“Oh.”

“You know,” Patrick says and leans on the bridge next to him. “I was talking to Alexis at the party and she was telling me about all of the times that you saved her from international imprisonment. The escape from the palace in Marrakesh was particularly impressive.” 

“How good of a job did I do though?” He laughs darkly and spins the ring on his index finger a few times, “She still died.” 

“That’s true,” Patrick agrees. “But I mean, you did die first, technically. And if it helps, she did end up in The Good Place. So that has to count for something.” 

David nods but doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“I think you can be good enough to stay here, David. You just need some help,” Patrick says and then adds, “you need a lot of help, actually.” 

David gets caught off guard by Patrick’s honesty and he laughs loudly before he can think better of it. “I really do." He says and clears his throat, scared to ask. "And will you, um, will you help me?” 

Patrick nods. “I’d like to.”

* * *

“Ok,” Patrick drops down onto the couch next to David and hands him a packet, “we are moving on to free will versus determinism, which means we are officially done with Nietzsche.”

“I’m gonna miss Nietzsche,” David says honestly and puts the book on the table next to him. “I always knew I was better than everyone else and it was nice for that fact to be confirmed.” 

David looks through the reading list Patrick gave him and nods approvingly. “Aristotle, some Descartes, oooh STA? That’s my nickname for St. Thomas Aquinas. I find if you give people a fun three-letter nickname it makes them more interesting—like SJP or NPH.” 

Patrick laughs. “I’m impressed, David. We’ve been doing this for four months and—” David reaches over and hands Patrick a tissue as he breaks off with a sneeze, eyes still roaming over the reading list. How Patrick can keep control over his lessons with him, Stevie and his sister as students but not his allergies David will never know.

“I’m just saying, I know that this afterlife or whatever is supposed to have the illusion of the real world, but did they really have to bring pollen into it? We should ask Twy—what?” David breaks off because Patrick is smiling at him. That small, downturned smile that Patrick has during their lessons (maybe it’s a smile for philosophy?). 

“What?” Patrick asks innocently. 

“Why are you smiling at me like that? You look like a demented Care Bear.” David says and looks at the time, “Oh crap. We have to go or we’ll be late for the town meeting. The last thing I need is another reason for them to suspect that I’m a fraud.”

“If it isn’t my four favorite residents!” Gwen says when they approach her in the town square and then leans in closely, “Don’t tell anyone I said that.” 

David leans back and grimaces, laughing falsely. “We won’t!”

“Welcome to pick a pet day!” She continues, “We have hundreds of animals for you to pick from, and whichever one you pick will bond to your soul forever.” 

“Oh my god, how cute for us!” Alexis claps. “I haven’t had a pet since I won one of Mike Tyson’s tigers in a game of Pai Gow at the secret underwater casino at Caesar’s Palace and it was seized by the government.”

Something catches her eye in the corner and she grins. “I think I’m gonna go look at the mythical pets. I’ll find you later, babe!” Alexis winks with both eyes and boops Stevie’s nose. 

Once she and Gwen disappear in the crowd Stevie takes a quick look around before tearing off her beret. “I think I’m gonna go look at the lizards or snakes for something. Definitely something that bites.” She grins mischievously and disappears in the crowd.

David immediately sees a black cat with a white patch on it’s chest shaped like a heart and decides it’s fate. 

He finds Patrick standing in front of a basket of puppies, staring between two of them. “Aww,” Patrick coos at the chocolate lab on the right. “This looks exactly like the puppy I had when I was a kid, Olerud.”

“Ew,” David makes a face. “Who or what is an ‘olerud’?” 

Patrick stares at him blankly. “Johnny Olerud?” He asks and David shakes his head. “First baseman for the Toronto Blue Jays during their back-to-back World Series wins?” 

“Oh,” David says in recognition. “This is a baseball thing. I thought we established that baseball means nothing to me.”

“Oh my god, David.” Patrick says and looks like he’s evaluating every moment that led up to this one but is still somehow amused by him. “I wonder if Twyla’s able to get us a copy of that world series game.”

“Ok,” David reaches over to rub Patrick’s shoulder lightly. “You can either teach me baseball or ethics, but not both. What you _can_ do is pick a puppy though.” 

“But what if this puppy isn’t like the one I had when I was a kid? I don’t think either of us would be able to handle the disappointment.” Patrick says and then points to the other puppy, a golden labradoodle, “And look at this one! This one is also cute, and labradoodles are hypoallergenic, so it’s an additional plus.” He drops his head into his hands with a groan, “Ugh, why is this so hard?” 

David hoists the cat in his arms and settles in. This is gonna be a while. 

After what feels like hours the cat starts hissing and David has to agree. “Patrick, it really shouldn’t be this hard. Just pick one!”

“Ok, but what if I’m separating them? They could be best friends—or married! David, what if I’m separating a puppy from its spouse?” Patrick panics.

“Ok, they’re literally divine puppies so they’re both probably the actual definition of perfection.” David sighs. “Just forking pick one, oh my god.” 

“Ok, you’re right. You’re right, I should just—I’m gonna pick the first one. That was my first instinct and I’m gonna do it.” Patrick says. 

David’s joy over Patrick’s ability to make a decision is soured quickly when Twyla pops in front of them with a bright smile (David gets that this is the Good Place and therefore basically nirvana, but how can someone be that happy all the time? He doesn’t trust it). 

“I’m sorry, Patrick,” Twyla says in a way that doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Both of these puppies have already been claimed.” 

Patrick sighs. “Of course they have. Once again my inability to make a decision has cost me what I want. Awesome.” Patrick looks almost sorry for the next question. “Are there any pets left?” 

“Yes!” Twyla says. “There are three left. A sixteen foot albino python—”

Patrick stares at the snake apprehensively. “Wow, look at that,” he says to himself and smiles politely, “I think I’m good though.”

“We also have something called a penguin shark,” Twyla continues. “And an owl!”

David turns to Patrick with a huge teasing grin. “Please get the penguin shark, Patrick. It sounds fascinating. And think of the tuxedo!” 

Patrick laughs nervously. “Ah, I think I’m gonna go with the owl.” 

* * *

“Patrick, look at this cute lil sweater Twyla made for Cat!” David says, walking into their house the next day. “It looks exactly like my Neil Barrett Fall 2015.” 

“You haven’t named the cat yet?” Patrick asks from somewhere in the house.

“No, it’s name is ‘Cat’.” Silence. “Like from Breakfast at Tiffany’s?” More silence. “Please tell me you’ve seen it, otherwise I’m commandeering our ethics lessons for a much needed romcom marathon because that is obviously more important.” Patrick still isn’t anywhere to be found, but David is eighty-seven percent sure he’s here somewhere. “Where even are you?” He asks, walking into the kitchen. 

“Shh!” Patrick hisses from underneath their counter. “Alomar doesn’t like loud voices.” 

David’s eyes widen when he gets a look at Patrick’s arms, which are haphazardly covered in bandages. “Oh my god, _what happened?”_

“Well,” Patrick starts sheepishly, “I was trying to teach it to play fetch, like I used to with Olerud when I was a kid, but. Instead of retrieving the stick, he attacked me with his razor sharp claws.” 

David rolls his eyes and grabs the first-aid kit on the table. “Here, let me do this,” David says, unravelling the gauze and grabbing the antiseptic. “Why don’t you just ask Gwen for a puppy? It has to be easier than whatever the fork this is.” David says and tries to clean the cut as gently as he can. 

Patrick winces. “Because it was my fault! I didn’t pick a puppy fast enough so I should have to deal with the consequences. The painful, bloody consequences.” 

David wraps the gauze tightly around his arm. “What if,” he starts lightly, knowing that this conversation can go very sideways and emotional if he isn’t careful. “I talked to Gwen for you. That way you don’t have to feel uncomfortable and I don’t have to look at this forking thing anymore.” He says and gestures to the owl. 

Patrick’s lips turn down into that familiar fond smile, and fork. It’s emotional now. “You’d do that for me?”

David rolls his eyes. “Yes,” he says, voice clipped. It’s better to keep his sentences as short as possible until the conversation is over.

He has to look away because in addition to the smile, Patrick’s eyes are shiny and wide and expressive. It’s honestly a little rude how loud his face is being at the moment. “Thank you, David,” he says softly.

“Yeah, well,” he dismisses it with a wave of his hand. “After everything you’re doing for me, I owe you.” 

David’s fidgeting with the gauze on Patrick’s arm when Patrick grabs his hand. “You don’t owe me anything, David. I wanted to help you—I _want_ to help you.”

David doesn’t really know how to respond to that, so he just ignores it and clears his throat instead. “Yeah, well. I wouldn’t do this for just anyone. You’re kind of the only person I’ve ever respected. Or thought was nice for that matter.” 

“Thank you, David,” Patrick smiles softly. “And hey, for what it’s worth, I also respect you and think you’re a good person.”

David purses his lips. “Mm, but I said nice person.”

Patrick smirks. “You’re a good person.”

David shakes his head and tries to hide his smile. “That’s not the same as nice.”

“It is to me.” Oh fork. The Fond Look is back. 

* * *

David tears into the house later that night, trying to unsee the image currently seared into his mind. 

“Patrick!” 

Patrick isn’t anywhere in sight and David is panicking because he doesn’t know what he’s gonna do if he’s not here. He needs Patrick to be here and ok and he can’t find him.

What if Gwen took him—can she do that?

_“Patrick!”_

Patrick walks out of the bathroom, adjusting the gauze on his arm. “I’m right here, David, geez.” He snorts, lips turned up into a smirk and no doubt ready to tease him. He must see the look on David’s face because his face immediately morphs into concern, coming over to smooth his hand over David’s shoulders and down his arms, checking for injury. “What’s wrong? Are you ok? David—”

“Patrick, we need to go, like _now.”_ David breaks away from his grip, except for the hand he wraps around Patrick’s wrist, and pulls him into the bedroom so he can look for a suitcase. 

“David what—where’s Cat? We’re gonna be late for the party and Gwen said she and Twyla are turning us into—”

“Fork the party, fork the cat,” David says. He finds the suitcase underneath the bed and starts pulling his sweaters out of the closet. 

His eyes dart to the clock on the wall. Getting out of here sooner than later is ideal, but he also doesn’t want to sacrifice his sweaters and it’s gonna take time to fold them properly. 

Forking fork fork fork.

“Here,” Patrick says and takes the orange flamed Givenchy sweater from his hands. “I’ll fold, you grab the clothes. And maybe tell me why we’re running away while you’re at it.” 

David grabs a handful of Patrick’s blue button ups from the closet (are these all the same button up shirt in different shade of blue?—wait no he doesn’t have time for that right now). “This is the Bad Place,” he says hurriedly, “Gwen lied to us.” 

Patrick stops mid-fold. _“What?”_

“Think about it, Patrick.” David says and grabs some more of his sweaters and Patrick’s jeans. “Why would you be forced to make decisions all the time? They literally make you sick to your stomach. And me and Stevie, always watching over our shoulders to make sure we aren’t discovered as frauds and generally awful people. And Alexis—oh my god, my sister. My sister and I actually ended up in _literal hell—”_

“David, hey.” Patrick abandons his folding and makes his way around the bed so that he can take David’s face in his hands. “Focus on me ok?” He asks, running his thumbs along David’s jawline. David keeps his eyes locked on Patrick’s and tries to focus on the pressure of Patrick’s hands for a few minutes while his mind whirrs down. Once his eyes come back into focus Patrick touches their foreheads together for a moment before pulling back. “I believe you—no, David, stop for a second—I do. So what do you want to do now?” 

David swallows, eyes flitting back and forth a million miles a minute as he tries to formulate a plan. “Packing, we–we need to pack.”

Patrick nods and picks up the sweater he abandoned, folding it the way David likes even though he never taught him how (and that is another emotional spiral for another day). 

“Hey, Twyla?” David asks once they’ve finished packing.

“Hi, David. Hi, Patrick.” Twyla pops into their room with a trademark bright smile. “How can I help?” 

David pulls the suitcase off of the bed. “Do you know somewhere we can go that isn’t in this neighborhood?” 

Twyla smiles knowingly. “There is somewhere actually.”

And that’s how they find themselves on a train (that is only powered by Twyla’s pixie dust or whatever the fuck it is that divine AIs use) to Ronnie Lee’s house in the Medium Place. 

Because of course there’s a Medium Place.

Once they’re far enough from The-Good-Place-That’s-Actually-The-Bad-Place David drops down in the seat next to Patrick and sighs loudly, the weight of the situation crashing down on him like a tidal wave. 

“It’s gonna be ok, David.” Patrick says and takes his hand. 

“Is it?” He asks doubtfully. 

Patrick plays with the ring on David’s index finger, spinning it around a few times before he nods. David doesn’t know who exactly it’s meant to be comforting, but he supposes it’s for both of them. “It will be. Maybe Ronnie can help us, and if she can’t at least we have time to make a plan. We do make a pretty good team.” 

David laughs and nods, letting his head fall onto Patrick’s shoulder, feeling settled for the first time since he got here. “We do.” 

They sit in silence for a while, letting the skyline pass by them in a sea of dark blues and the occasional sparkle of stars. Patrick looks down at him and rests their foreheads together. “I’m really glad you made me come with you, David.” 

David snorts. “You should be.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “And I’m so glad you trusted me, Patrick because the Good Place actually being the Bad Place sounds like the most ridiculous thing in the world.” 

David leans up to look at him suspiciously. “Does it, though? If you think about it?”

Patrick smirks like he shouldn’t be as amused by David as he is, which makes his stomach flip. David’s seen that look on Patrick’s face so often he thinks it might be just for him. Patrick’s eyes flick down to his mouth briefly, and it’s enough of a signal that David feels safe enough to lean in slowly, a little uncertainly, and kiss him.

Patrick’s lips are soft and his touch is gentle, giving David the reassurance he needs.

They’re fleeing from actual hell but David has never felt so safe in his life.

* * *

Apparently this is the thirtieth time that they’ve been to Ronnie’s house. And after a quick explanation ( _yes,_ they are in the Bad Place and _no_ this isn’t the first time they’ve figured it out and _no_ they did not bring the whiskey Ronnie asked for last time) Ronnie banishes them up to her guest room for the night. 

“Y’know,” Patrick says, sitting on the bed, “I knew I wasn’t a great person. I mean, I called off my engagement with little to no explanation and literally fled to a different city because I was afraid to confront my sexuality, but still. The Bad Place, really?” 

“Join the club,” David says and sits on the bed next to him. “Well, no, that’s not true. I always knew I would end up here, but it was nice for a while, to think that I could become a good person.” 

“You are a good person.” Patrick says. 

David laughs sardonically. “You can’t still believe that.”

Patrick nods, his hand coming up to cup David’s jaw. “I do. You’re not a bad person, David Rose.”

David sniffs, blinking back tears so he can reach up to grab Patrick’s hand. “Neither are you.” 

David looks up into Patrick’s eyes and lets himself feel the full weight of his gaze, for once, and is immediately overwhelmed. His eyes are bright, and full of a word David is too hopeful to name. But he feels it. “Patrick, um, will you kiss me?”

“Yeah—yes.” Patrick says and leans in to kiss him. 

It starts off soft, David reveling in the fact that after everything Patrick still wants him. His arms come around Patrick’s shoulders so he can gently push him back onto the mattress. Patrick makes a needy sound at the back of his throat, leaning up to press his lips harder to David’s, coaxing them open which David uses as an opportunity to bite teasingly at his bottom lip and pull him into a deep, lush kiss. Patrick wriggles around a bit until he can hook his leg around David’s hip and David grips his thigh, hoisting it up higher. 

Patrick breaks off with a gasp. “Fuck, David.” 

David groans when Patrick leans down to bite at his neck and rolls his hips up experimentally. “Oh my god, that word sounds so much better coming out of your mouth.”

Patrick looks up at him with a teasing grin. “Fuck or David?” 

“Either—both.” David says and groans into his mouth. “What do you want?” David asks and grasps at the buttons on Patrick’s shirt urgently.

Patrick whines as he fumbles with the bottom of David’s sweater at the same time. Once David slips his sweater off Patrick takes it from him so he can fold it and set it gently on the floor next to the bed. 

He cups David’s face and kisses his eyes, his nose, his jaw, his lips, the spot on his neck just below his ear like David is the galaxy and Patrick needs to map every constellation. “Anything—everything. _I want everything with you, David.”_

* * *

David grabs the remote off of Ronnie’s coffee table and scrambles to fast forward through the video. 

While everything he’s been watching has been building up to this moment, it feels almost cruel to impose on that now. Seeing Patrick (and fuck, even himself) at his most vulnerable—those versions of them deserve to keep that moment for themselves.

Once he feels like he’s gone forward a sufficient enough amount, he presses play. 

* * *

Patrick spins the ring around David’s index finger where their hands are loosely linked over his stomach. David sits up a bit and adjusts their bodies so he can trace random patterns up and down the length of Patrick’s back. “I have a sneaking suspicion that Ronnie has a camera in here.” 

Patrick rolls his eyes. “She does not.”

David shrugs. “I don’t know, I’m just...getting a vibe.”

“Oh, a _vibe?”_ Patrick nods solemnly before his lips betray him and tick up into a smirk, “What kind of vibe? This kind?” He asks and leans up to kiss David.

Every kiss they’ve had so far has been so _(excuse the pun)_ life and death. This one is light and fluffy full of teeth and off center because they’re both smiling so widely.

Once they pull away David pulls him closer, hoping he can ask this next question without looking at Patrick. “I know you said you were glad I made you come here, but I can’t help but ask. Do you regret it—coming with me?”

Patrick shakes his head. “I don’t. Really, David. I’d do it again.” Patrick says and laces their fingers together. “Easiest decision of my life.”

David laughs. “The _easiest_ decision?” David whistles. “Wow, high praise. I feel honored, truly.” 

Patrick chuckles and bites his lip nervously, and David can see the different approaches to the conversation formulating in his mind. “I know we’re in the middle of running away from an actual demon,” he starts, laying his chin on David’s chest so he can look up at him, “and I don’t want to make the situation more stressful—but, I love you.” 

David inhales sharply because the surprise he was waiting to overtake him once he heard those words isn’t there like he thought it would be. 

But because this is Patrick who communicates in teasing, he can’t help but tease him back. “So, you just said that to me for the first time knowing that it would make the situation more stressful?” 

Patrick smiles softly. “Yes, that’s correct,” he says, pressing a kiss to the hollow of David’s throat. “And I don’t expect you to say it back—”

David’s heart lodges itself somewhere in his throat. He knew that Patrick would say something like that—because he knows Patrick, sees him, in a way he never thought he could know anyone. He’d had a suspicion earlier, that maybe this was where they’d end up. But he’d been afraid to truly let himself think it in fear that he’d be wrong. And he really shouldn’t have been. He can see that now. Because those three words have always been there. Every look, every touch, every teasing comment, every reverent _“David”_ all lead back to those three words.

“I love you too.” David cuts him off and leans down to kiss him again. 

* * *

David pauses the video again with a gasp, brushing away the tears that have fallen without his permission. 

Seeing everything in context, every moment leading up to that, still hadn’t prepared David. 

It hurts, to see it. To know that at one point, someone loved him like that, and he can’t remember it. 

He looks towards the door to the front yard where this version _(version 417)_ of Patrick is sitting. How can David reconcile that version out there—the one he barely knows—with the one he’s seeing on the screen? They seem so different. 

But David’s mind traitorously goes back to earlier in the day when he’d heard two people talking about Gwen’s plan to torture them forever, and how Patrick had believed him immediately. 

Maybe this Patrick and that Patrick aren’t as different as he thought. He hopes he gets the chance to find out.

David braces himself for what he knows is coming next, if the feeling of dread pooling in his stomach is any indication, and presses play. 

* * *

“Alright, let’s get this over with.” Gwen leans back in the chair in her office and sighs loudly. “Listen, you guys—” 

“No, _you_ listen,” David leans forward in his chair and means for it to come out exactly as harsh as it does, “Gwen or whoever the fork you are. We know this is the Bad Place, and we know you’ve failed miserably because Ronnie Lee told us you rebooted us a couple hundred times. Which tells me you suck at this whole torture thing.”

“Oh yeah?” She asks sarcastically. 

“Yeah,” Patrick says defensively and David reaches over to grab his hand. “But it’s not gonna work again, because this time it’s different—we’re in love, and that’s gonna be stronger than anything you can throw at us.”

David grimaces because he wishes it didn’t sound so much like a Disney-Channel-Original-Movie cliche, but the words still make his stomach flutter nonetheless. “He’s right.” 

Gwen snorts. “What if I threw a building at you? You think your love would be stronger than a building made of brick and concrete? It would crush you.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “That was a metaphor, obviously. I don’t—love is an emotion it can’t _literally—”_

“Whatever.” Gwen says dismissively. “Even your metaphor sucks.”

“You know what? It’s ok,” David says and turns to look at Patrick because they’re probably a second away from being rebooted and he needs Patrick to know this before they are. Fork Gwen and her little experiment. “It is. Because no matter how many reboots we go through or how many iterations of the neighborhood there are, I’m gonna find you. Every single time.”

Patrick’s eyes widen slightly and David tries to memorize what he can. The little gold flecks, the warm whiskey color, the love. “Promise?”

David nods and rubs his thumb over Patrick’s knuckles. “I promise.” 

Gwen smirks. “We’ll see about that.” 

_Snap._

* * *

Once the screen goes black David shoots up off the couch and pulls the tape from the player so he can toss it in his bag. 

“Ronnie!” David yells. “I have to go.” 

Ronnie appears at the top of the stairs and crosses her arms. “I know you do,” she says. “I’ll see you next time.”

David shakes his head. “I think I just got a really good idea,” he says. “It’s gonna work this time.” 

She gives him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure it will.”

* * *

Once Patrick is asleep on the train, he walks over to where Twyla is standing in the conductor’s booth. “Hey Twyla?” 

Twyla grins brightly, and David really wishes he had the words to thank her for what she’s done for him. “Hi David.”

David pulls a note out of his pocket. “I hope I’m not gonna need this, but just in case, can you hold on to this for me?”

Twyla grabs it out of his hand and squeezes it reassuringly. “Sure thing, David.” 

He really hopes his plan works this time. It has to. 

* * *

(It doesn’t work. They get rebooted again)

* * *

“Hi, David.” 

David blinks at the woman who just popped out of thin air. “Do I know you?” 

She grins brightly. “I’m Twyla.” A piece of paper appears in her hand out of thin air. “I think this belongs to you. I found it when I was rebooted.” 

David unfolds the paper and it turns out to be an index card with a note scribbled on it: _David, find Patrick._

“Who the fork is Patrick? Wait, why can’t I forking say fork?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](https://lilythesilly.tumblr.com), come say hi (or yell)!


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